


Naked

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Trans, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More is hard. More is unknown territory. More is complicated. More is negotiation. You don’t even know what more means, but you know you want it, and so does he.</p><p>--</p><p>"Chose not to use archive warnings" because John and Dave are 16.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked

TG: were friends right  
GT: of course dave!  
GT: best friends.

And four years after this conversation, you and your best friend are kissing.

Well, more than that. He’s so much more than that. He’s your knight in shining armor, he’s the one you give all your time, he’s the one who steals your breath away. He’s your boyfriend. And he’s flawless.

TG: i wanna tell you something  
TG: but you gotta promise youre not gonna tell  
GT: you can tell me anything dave!!

And you’re not just kissing. You’re kissing in his bedroom. You are kissing Dave Strider in his own kingdom, an invader on foreign territory, and you’re almost overwhelmed with sensation. Your eyes are closed, your glasses set on his nightstand, but every other sense is trying to make up for it. You breathe in the woodsy smell of his cologne, so reminiscent of Washington summers, layered over soap and something so uniquely Dave that you could identify him by that alone. You taste the inside of his mouth and know that no one else could be this sweet. There are little moans stuck in his throat, but every time your jaws move and your tongues move against one another’s, you can hear the little desperate noise and it makes you hard. And your hands, your hands can’t stop tracing his arms. Up and down, reading the Braille of his gooseflesh, brushing your fingertips against his scabby elbows, his endearing scabby elbows, and back down again until you’re holding hands and you’re palm to palm and it’s so good, so good.

TG: no i mean it john  
TG: theres only one person who knows right now and its my bro  
TG: you gotta be a bro to me right now  
GT: dave.  
GT: we’re best friends.  
GT: i swear on our friendship that i’m not going to tell anyone else.

You don’t want to share him with anyone, ever. E v e r. Running your hands through his hair – baby-soft, baby-fine, baby-pale – you catch his shades, lay them down next to your glasses, and what’s even more amazing is that he lets you, just lets you, and even your blurred vision can take in his fascinating, enthralling, entrancing eyes. You’re hypnotized. From where he’s sitting in your lap, you grab onto his ass and force him closer to you, as close as you can get, until your chests are flush and your hips are together and you can roll up into him and the pressure isn’t enough, you want more, and based on the sounds Dave’s giving you, he wants more too.

TG: i wasnt born dave strider  
GT: oh, so you’re like a secret agent!  
GT: are you in witness protection or something?  
GT: don’t worry, i won’t tell anyone that!  
TG: its not like that

You haven’t gone much farther than this. There was the one time that he palmed at your hard-on through your shorts, but that had ended embarrassingly abruptly, with a stain spreading on your pants and Dave frantically whispering apologies into your ear while you were too high on the fact that someone else got you to come. But there’s something hungry in the way Dave’s kissing you this afternoon, something hot that isn’t just the sweltering Houston summer, and when he starts pushing your shirt up your stomach and feeling along your happy trail with slim, articulated fingers, you know he wants more. More, though, is hard. More is unknown territory. More is complicated. More is negotiation. You don’t even know what more means. (And more is quite possibly illegal. You and Dave are only sixteen.)

TG: i was born dove  
TG: not dave  
GT: i don’t get it.  
TG: im trans  
GT: you’re what?

Right now, more means that Dave wants your shirt off. And he wants your shirt off now. He practically tears it away from you, only helping you ease out once it’s around your neck, and then he breathes out a soft “wow” as he takes in what he sees. You don’t know what there is to be so fascinated with, but you know what Dave is seeing: a body built by swinging a godly hammer until you have the mangrit and muscles to prove it. Once you’re half-naked, Dave gets to kissing you again, somehow even fiercer than before, and it’s his teeth, not yours, that are getting in the way, biting at you and clacking against your mouth in his haste. When he rolls his hips down and ruts against the bulge in your shorts, there’s no mistaking what he wants. Or how much you want to give it to him.

Dave’s hands dip below your waistband, and then he’s fumbling with the D-ring of your belt, whipping it out of your belt loops so fast that it snaps against your stomach and starts to leave a welt, and he laughs hoarsely at your exclamation-point of pain. But when Dave dips back down to start working on your button and fly, you start getting a little alarmed. “Wait,” you say, hating yourself for it. “Dave. Hold up. What are you doing?”

“I wanna see.” He sounds like he has a permanent sore throat, but this is normal for him. It’s scratchy and rough and altogether him. The way he looks up at you – there’s a general haze anywhere past, say, your toes, but you can still see the eagerness in his eyes.

And this is where you choose to get shy? “Dave, if… if I’m getting naked, why don’t you…?”

It’s the closest you’ll come to outright asking to see his body. You know some things about it already, based on what he’s told you – that he hasn’t gone through surgery, that he just started testosterone therapy a year ago – but that doesn’t mean you know exactly what to expect. Dave hovers over you, and you can’t tell whether he’s just being hesitant or whether you’ve really offended him. His entire body seems taut; to reassure him, you gently rub up and down the backs of his arms. He’s always been scrawny. It’s cute to you.

You’re nervous again, just like the first time you met, just like the first time you kissed. Is this going to be the first time you…? “I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I didn’t mean – you don’t have to –”

“Yeah,” Dave interrupts you. “I want you – I wanna show you.”

Your heart soars into your throat, and to keep yourself from tripping over your words, you yank him up and smash your lips to his, smiling all the while. “God, you’re so brave, look at you, thank you, wow…” When you hike up his shirt, though, there isn’t skin beneath the cotton. It’s foreign and scratchy and strange and of course he’d wear his binder, he doesn’t like looking at his ‘mammary anomalies’ as he’s dubbed them, and you’re not about to make him take it off for this. This is what he looks like under his clothes. This is Dave. And so you run your fingertips along the fabric as he takes it off for you, and this is him naked, and you’re okay with this, because you can still see the obnoxious smattering of freckles that dusts his shoulders and his chest and even his back, and you have no qualms about holding him around the waist with those large hands of yours he loves so very much and kissing him like you mean it.

He runs his hands over you, and you run your hands over him, and eventually your hands creep under the bottom hem of his athletic shorts to run along the back of his thigh and he shivers and clutches onto your shoulders and moans a little and you kiss his neck and he really moans and this is Dave Strider and you’re playing him like a piano. He’s gorgeous. You can even touch his butt from here. Once you do, you grab it, and he makes a honking noise, startling both of you until Dave just as abruptly starts laughing, laughing like he means it, and you know you didn’t do anything wrong. “Lessee how well you like it,” he whispers through a malicious smirk, and you make roughly the same noise when he gooses you in return.

“God, I love you.” It comes out effortlessly. It doesn’t even occur to you to mark this occasion as a first, because it’s true. It’s been true for a long time, has never been truer than this moment as of yet, and you know it will continue to be true for even longer. The sound that comes out of Dave almost sounds like a sigh of relief.

Together, you reach down and fumble with the fronts of each other’s shorts. There’s a lot of struggling, mostly with tangled legs, but eventually two pairs of pants are kicked to the floor and all that’s left are your boxers and Dave’s thin line of a mouth that means he’s nervous and your buck teeth hanging out over your lips as you bite them which means you’re nervous too. “Uh,” Dave says first, staring at the bulge tenting the fabric.

“Same,” is all you can think to say. You think you can see something underneath, but unless Dave tells you to, you’re not messing with him yet. He sets the boundaries. He’s the one with the body sensitivity. And you just want to tell him you accept him for who he is, and that starts with kissing at his neck and drawing him back into your lap so you can hump against each other again until he starts raking his nails down your biceps. You feel like you’re going to explode from the pressure building up inside you.

Then Dave takes his hips away and replaces them with his hands. Once he pulls down the waistband of your boxers, your dick springs up out of a mess of curly, wiry hair. “Tell your spam porpoise not to breach yet, I’m not done down here,” Dave says, but you know he’s still anxious, because he never resorts to metaphor unless he’s unsettled somehow.

Then you’re naked, your cock practically throbbing, a dribble of precum leaking from the tip, and with a hesitant fingertip Dave reaches out to smear it around the head and you hiss at the feeling. But it isn’t until Dave closes a loose fist around you and starts to stroke that you go crazy. “Whoa,” you say, bucking into his grip. “Holy shit.”

Dave takes his hand away, and you can feel the surge of blood to your dick as it strains to be back in his grasp. “If you’re gonna be my personal rodeo, you gotta last longer than eight seconds, stallion.”

You shouldn’t laugh. You really shouldn’t. You laugh anyway. Sometimes he can get absurd. “I’m a stallion?”

“Shut up, bronco, or I’m gonna ride you so hard you’ll think you’re an animal.”

“Bronco,” you repeat after him, dissolving into giggles.

You even get a weak chuckle out of him. He’s nervous again, though. You can see the tremor in his fingers as he snaps his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers, hesitating there. “Just… don’t laugh at this.” He tugs down, kicks them off, and… well.

To be frank, you didn’t know what you were expecting, but you certainly weren’t expecting this. You don’t want to seem like you’re staring, but it’s what you have to do to take it all in. His pubes are spun gold, but you know once you run your fingers through them they’ll sting like nettles. His… you don’t know what to call it. Clit is wrong, but cock isn’t right. Whatever it is, it’s red and engorged, maybe the size of a double-A battery, and you want to touch it but you know you shouldn’t, not yet, not before he actually physically guides your hand there to show you it’s okay. “Why would I laugh?” You’re completely serious. His body isn’t anything to laugh at, or about. It’s beautiful in a way that’s uniquely him.

What you can’t quite figure out is how this is going to work.

“I, um,” you start with. You aren’t that articulate at the best of times – Rose can attest to that – but with a boner this demanding and your boyfriend naked for the first time in front of you, it’s like most of your vocabulary has fallen straight out of your brain through your ears and scattered itself like pepper in the sheets tangled around your feet.

Dave, however, seems to have picked up every spare word and crammed it into his speech. “Well, are you gonna window-shop or are you actually gonna test-drive the fucking thing?”

“I – yeah, I just.” You blink a few times to clear your head, then look into his eyes. “You gotta keep talking to me, Dave. I don’t wanna hurt you.” Physically or emotionally.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Egbert.” It’s the gentleness in his hoarse tone that makes you melt. “Now suck my dick.”

Well. That was… abrupt. “How do you want me to –”

“Shut up and get to work.” You have a feeling that the sudden authority in Dave’s voice comes from being nervous. All the same, he runs his fingers through your hair, then gathers them in a fist and forces your head down while he props himself up on his knees. You’re bent nearly in half, so close to his crotch that you can smell him, as absurd as it sounds.

And then you touch your tongue to his cock and it’s like he settles into himself for the first time in his life.

For all the time you’ve known him, Dave has always had a false front of bravado. You always understood it, though, and after he came out to you, it made complete sense. He was never comfortable with himself, so he compensated for it with brashness around others. Dave’s a twitchy sort, too, you know that much, and he always seems to be fidgeting.

Now, he’s completely still. There’s no lingering tremor under his skin, no shaking of the fingers in your hair. When you purse your lips around him and suck like a Hoover, the motion he makes as he tips into your mouth is so fluid and graceful that you know you’re doing it right. He likes this. He likes the way this makes him feel. And you would do it all day if it meant that he would be this comfortable in his own skin.

But you’re uncomfortable, nearly bent in half, and now Dave’s trying to fumble under your stomach to reach your cock where it’s trapped against the bed, and this isn’t working, this isn’t gonna work like he thinks. You lick up behind you – the shiver running along his spine is purely sexual – but you have to open your mouth again to ask a question. “You were saying you were gonna…”

“Ride you.” The residual shudder might be gone, but the hesitancy, the false confidence, are still there in the thin set of his mouth. Even his eyes are cold, and you know he’s trying to be braver than he really is. “I want you to sink my battleship with your flesh torpedo.”

And even though that was completely unsexy, something in you gets even more excited when he says it like that. “I – okay, how do you want me to –”

“Here.” Dave pushes you back so your back is against the headboard, like it was before. He crawls into your lap, but not before getting something out of the nightstand and pressing it into one of your hands. It’s a bottle of lube. It’s like Dave can’t wait for you to slick your fingertips, because the second you’re done smearing the fluid around and warming it as best you can, he’s grabbing your arm and wrapping it around his waist and putting your fingertip right up against his asshole and wow, this is actually happening, don’t fuck it up, Egbert, don’t fuck it up.

Surprisingly, the first fingertip goes in a lot easier than you would have thought. Maybe that’s just another difference between his body and yours – you’re sure he wouldn’t blow you like you blew him, so maybe this is something like that. “How even,” you marvel, pressing in until your finger is in him to the knuckle and widening his pucker with wriggling circles at the base.

“I practice.” It makes sense in retrospect, you realize – it’s a way for him to pleasure himself that doesn’t rely on the parts that are wrong, but instead focuses on something everyone has. To show you how effortless it is, he steals some of the precum still dribbling from your tip and smears it across his finger before plunging it in alongside your own.

Wow. That is… wow. “Incredible,” you breathe into the base of his neck, then kiss him as you start to draw your finger in and out. You can feel the slide of his finger against yours, the tight heat inside, and it just makes you want to plunge another in. When you do, Dave lets out the most delectable sound, and then he makes it again when you crook your fingers back towards you that tiny little bit and nibble with your rabbit-denture teeth at the side of his neck.

“Fuck,” Dave sighs out, and he slides out his finger to make room for a third from you. Before long, you’re leisurely fucking him open with your hand, thoroughly enjoying the ways you can make him moan. You can play him like an instrument this way. If you kiss him on his shoulder, he lets out a C, but when you add crooking your fingers forward, it cracks up into an F, then dips down to a guttural A when you turn your attention back to his neck. “Fuck,” he says with practically every movement of your fingers, “fuck, fuck me, Egbert, fuck, I need, John, I need you to fuck…”

He’s the one that fumbles with the condom; you’re still three fingers deep in him and unwilling to take that fullness away from him. When his fist slides it over you, you feel like you’re going to blow then and there, but you make yourself think of anything else – of how Dave would feel if you did – and you try to slow down your jackhammer heart and you breathe because that’s what you’re good at and Dave helps you position your cock at his entrance and slowly you take your fingers away and press up into him.

He opens for you so willingly. Even though your fingers are sticky, you reach up to pet at his hair and whisper compliments to him as he sinks down onto you. It’s difficult. This is a first for both of you, not just with each other but altogether, and so there are some moments where you swear it’s not going to work until he’s taken all of you and his ass is nestled against your thighs and his hands are framing your face and you need to kiss him to remind yourself that this is real.

It’s slow at first. You just rock, just a little. Enough to change pressure, but not depth. Enough to feel out his body, enough for him to take you in. He rolls his hips and gasps, and you feel it too, and you both clutch onto each other as he does it again and his eyes roll back in his head, and it feels amazing and intense and like you’re going to shatter.

Dave works up from rocking against you to rolling with you to drawing himself off and then back on, and it’s better than anything you could have imagined. You’re having sex. You’re having sex with your boyfriend. You’re having sex with Dave Strider. Dave Strider is riding your cock. He’s riding your cock and he’s biting his lip and he’s moaning with each thrust and he’s digging his nails into your arms and he’s snaking his tongue into your mouth and he’s letting you do this and he’s letting you love him and he’s showing you that he loves you too, trusts you more than anything.

When you snap your hips up against his, he actually cries out, a grunt that isn’t lost on you. Was that pain or pleasure? But when Dave braces his hands on the headboard and holds himself up with his thighs, letting you fall out but trapping the head of your dick, you know he wants you to do it again. This time, you thrust a little smoother. You hold onto his hips and guide him down as you tip up, and you hold him up again as you fall. It takes a moment, but you fall into a rhythm, and holy shit you’re fucking Dave Strider.

And make no mistake of it, he’s an unholy mess right now. His hair is plastered to his forehead, a rivulet of sweat falling from behind his ear, and you can see just a hint of ruby underneath half-lidded eyes, and his golden eyelashes flutter with every thrust of yours, and his lips are swollen and glossed and cherry-red as he licks them and bites at them and moans and pants past them as the two of you move together.

You don’t mean for it to, but it starts going faster. And faster. Dave’s in charge of time – he’s always been in charge of time – and if he wants it to be this way, you’re going to give it to him like this. With every jerk, your hips slap into his thighs, and you can feel his cock in your pubes, hard and brushing up against you as he searches for friction.

“Fuck,” and you’re not sure which one of you said it, but someone – Dave? – is panting “now, now, I’m gonna, shit, I’m gonna –” and you can feel it gathering at the base of your spine like an electrical storm, and you sigh out with everything you have when it hits you, burying yourself in him as he continues to rut against you while you come, more intensely than you have in your entire life, and with a little cry you can tell Dave can feel you pulse in him, and his cock twitches against your skin and you feel something slick and wet start to gather.

Extricating is a gentle process. Everything’s covered with fluids and the two of you are gross as can be but you still have to be careful with the condom or it’s going to be even more of a mess. Dave helps you pull out, but you’re smart enough to knot the end of the rubber before you drop it in the trash can near his desk.

You sigh out, and Dave falls off of you, preferring to nestle in your side with his legs tangled around your waist instead of continuing to straddle you. The prickle of hair on his calves against your stomach makes you smile that smile he’s deemed “the derp”, but you can’t help it. You turn your head, place a kiss on his forehead, and wait for him to open his eyes. “Was that…”

“I love you.”

He blurts it out so quickly that it might have been a mistake, but given that he’s not trying to immediately cram the words back into his mouth with hands over his lips, you know it was building up for some time, even if it was spontaneously uttered now. “Love you too.” And you kiss the gorgeous lips those words fell from.

Even though you just fucked – had sex – made love? – Dave’s still shy. You don’t blame him. He doesn’t want to broadcast his body too openly, even to you. You understand. In sympathy with him, you tug on boxers too. It isn’t until you wake up from your blissed-out crash-nap that you realize you two switched underwear on accident.


End file.
